


Spoke in the Wheel

by weytani



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weytani/pseuds/weytani
Summary: They come across a town about fifty miles from where they started at lunch, the haphazard remains of a cheap bomb shelter in the middle of nowhere.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last weekend I read Bite by K S Merbeth, and all I could think about was Team Machine in a post-apocalyptic desert wasteland. So please excuse the clichés, I'm just entertaining myself here, haha.

They come across a town about fifty miles from where they started at lunch, the haphazard remains of a cheap bomb shelter in the middle of nowhere.

These days it’s hard to find respite from the sun, especially at midday when the desert wastelands are at their hottest. So they took a meagre lunch break under the battered metal roof, tensing when it creaked in rusty uneasiness. Nothing else remained of the shelter but that roof and the lone wall keeping it upright in the sand.

Shaw figured they could find the bones of its poor sap of an occupant if they dug down deep enough; the spindly framework of a human being with no place left to hide. It was something to think about when she was scraping lukewarm beans out of the cans they use for rations.

They left the empty containers behind after that, half-buried like a grave marker, and set off in what passed for their ride these days; an old jeep with all its windows shattered well before they’d stolen it for themselves. But then, it can’t really be considered stealing when the owners are six-feet under.

Shaw takes one hand from the wheel and runs a finger across the scabbing pink line rimming her neck. She’s sure this one will scar just as nicely as the rest; a generous reminder of the blonde bitch who’d tried to slit her throat in the night. Good thing Shaw sleeps with a gun inches from her index finger, hidden beneath the bundle of rags that pillows her head.

They killed that whole crew- she and Reese did, at least. Finch was a poor excuse for a fighter, even before the explosion left him with a limp and a near-constant chip on his shoulder. Not that she blames him, really.

The wastes don’t make it easy on anyone.

But Finch can do things that she and Reese can’t. When they’d first crossed paths, Shaw with her arms chained to the wall of a prison cell, and them blowing the door down with more firepower than sense, Finch had unlocked the cuffs from her aching wrists and offered her one hell of a job.

They have a map, one printed with real ink and not scorched to ash like every book Shaw’s ever found in her travels. They have a real map, and a destination in mind. Somewhere, across the wastelands, there’s a power station. Electricity. And what Finch carries with him, on a pen drive (that’s what he’d called it, and she’s still dubious about the small plastic anomaly), is a piece of what destroyed everything in the first place. And maybe what can help fix it.

Of course, Shaw’s not completely sold on the whole Change the World objective. Maybe they find what they’re looking for, and maybe they don’t. But she’s never had a job that didn’t involve killing people on the regular, so it’s a pretty quaint arrangement. Sure, they still have to kill people sometimes, but as far as Finch and Reese are concerned, it’s a tragic but unavoidable casualty.

For Shaw, it’s actually just nice to have someone around to watch her back. And the guns are a definite plus.

“Look over there,” Reese shouts abruptly. Shaw can barely hear him over the engine, but he slams his hand against the roof a few times until she looks his way.

And there’s the town.

Well, something like it. There’s a cluster of buildings up ahead, half of them crumbling in on themselves like they’re ready to become one with the sand; and that’s pretty much the way everything goes out here, man and building alike.

A couple of the buildings are still holding up, though. Shaw pulls the wheel around with both hands, veering towards the new target with her foot mashing the accelerate pedal. It’s the first point of interest they’ve had in days, and if they’re lucky maybe there’ll be something worth picking up. Water would be a treat.

“Think there’s anything inside?” Reese asks when they park up next to the sturdiest building among them. Even this one only has half a roof, but there’s a second floor with a curtain drawn over the window. By modern standards, that’s downright fancy.

“Better hope so. Couple more days and we’ll be drinking our own piss,” Shaw says, and Finch looks at her with distaste.

Reese peers up at the window, and then down at the door that’s actually covering the whole doorway, rather than busted in on its hinges; a rare thing. “Looks like a good bet to me.”

“We can’t be too careful,” Finch murmurs from the backseat of the jeep.

“Don’t worry, Harold,” Reese says, pulling a double-barrel shotgun out of the bag at his feet and passing it to Shaw. “We got this close without getting shot at, that’s as good a sign as any.”

Finch doesn’t look reassured.

“Your turn to hold down the fort, big guy,” Shaw says, before tossing the shotgun back to Reese and detaching her favourite pistol from the sun visor she’d taped it to earlier. She likes to be a little stealthier with her entrances than his go-to guns-blazing approach allows.

Reese waits until she’s slammed the door shut behind her before he calls out, “Find us some water in there, I’ll let you have the last can of peaches.”

Shaw gives him a flat look, not betraying how the saliva gathers in her mouth at the thought of the fruit he’s been holding out on her. “Half a can if it’s liquid and not poisonous?”

“You drink it first and we’ll negotiate.”

Shaw shrugs in acceptance.

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather you two didn’t gamble on our livelihoods,” Finch says, but there’s no real bite to it. Shaw thinks he might just be happy for another rest stop. The heat and the jeep’s heavy lurches over the sand dunes probably make his injury twice as painful to cope with.

-

Helpfully, the door swings open with one measly push, and Shaw aims her gun at every corner of the room before she takes a full step inside. Usually when they burst into someone’s hidey-hole, there’s a barricade behind the front door. Maybe a bear trap or two, or a sad-looking townie wielding a blunt object, just lying in wait. Guns are a rare commodity for most people.

The bottom floor of this building is pretty much empty. It’s a small, open-plan kind of homestead, arched holes in the wall rather than doors, so Shaw can see the stairs from where she’s standing in the main hall. There’s an empty wooden cabinet next to the door, and an oven with its dials ripped off in the next room that identifies it as a kitchen. That’s all.

Shaw checks all the cupboards she can find, and it’s not many, before she heads for the stairs. They creak under her boots, but Shaw’s fairly confident they won’t give way. Whoever built this place did a solid job; maybe they had some kind of insight into the apocalyptic shitfest ahead of them.

Three empty rooms on the first floor, one containing a dirty hole in the tiles where someone has ripped out what might have been a toilet. The looting started early back then, little things at first, but when people got desperate, they came back for just about anything.

If she hadn’t spotted that curtain from the jeep, Shaw might have given up her search. But every window she’s seen so far has been bare, most of them not even containing glass, and so she pushes on.

It pays off when she notices a crack in the wall of the third room. The wallpaper is crusty and full of unidentifiable stains, but she sees the first crack, and from there she follows it around, digging her fingernail in until it marks out a door just big enough for someone to crawl through. She has to run her hands over the wall a few times before her fingers break through the paper and find the slot to pull it open.

Shaw tucks her gun into the waistband of her pants and crouches, peering into the crawlspace. Based on the door, she figures nobody has used this thing for a long time. The last family to move in here must have redecorated to block it off for some reason.

Still, Shaw doesn’t want to miss an opportunity. She’s got nothing to take back to the others so far, and as pathetic as that is, she’s more concerned about the can of fruit with her name on it. There has to be _something_.

So she gets on her hands and knees and crawls her way through. The tunnel ends at another room, one she hasn’t seen yet. It’s smaller than the rest, and there at its single window Shaw sees the curtain, threadbare and hanging onto its rusted hooks by sheer force of will.

That’s not all Shaw finds, though.

There’s a mattress on the floor. It’s pushed against the wall opposite the window, and there’s a pile of empty cans in the nearest corner. Shaw fishes through them with the barrel of her gun, just to check there’s nothing inside, before she makes for the bulky-looking bag in the other corner.

Bottled water, a lot of it. Shaw thinks if she were capable of getting choked up, this might do it. There are more cans in there too, full ones this time; some beans, the new world’s favourite foodgroup, and, to Shaw’s pleasure, a can of diced mangos.

She zips the bag up and throws it over her shoulder. The buzz of satisfaction is like a shot of amphetamine, and she lifts the curtain from the window to look down at Reese and Finch in the jeep, ready to give them a confident salute if she catches their attention.

That’s when she hears the soft clicking noise behind her. It repeats a few times over, and Shaw has a distinct memory of a lighter’s switch when her thumb keeps hitting the wheel, trying to get the fire to catch. Fwip, fwip, fwip.

The sound stops, and Shaw is very aware of the crawlspace on the other side of the room. The bag weighing down her shoulder. Her face reflecting back at her in the window.

The reflection of something else, an indent in the floor, peeking out from under the mattress.

Shaw blinks once and the room explodes.

-

Shaw’s had close calls before. Sure, yeah, with the world the way it is, who hasn’t?

But this is probably the closest she’s every come to getting blown up. No wonder Finch takes everything so seriously.

It grates on her actually, because she was a real fan of explosives back in the day. When she was killing people for the wrong reasons, or often for no reason at all, it made the whole process a little more interesting.

And, well, she never did believe in anything stupid like karma, but her ass hurts like a bitch, and her ponytail feels a lot shorter than it used to.

If she hadn’t spotted that trap door under the mattress, she’d almost definitely have had to jump through the window. And sand or no sand, a fall from that height would fuck her legs up royally. They already have one party member who can barely walk in the desert.

By some miracle, she managed to slide down the ladder and roll out in time, bag still clutched in her hand. Today really is a lucky one.

The issue at hand, though, is finding whichever trigger-happy asshole just tried to blow her up.

The trap door leads down and out through the back of the building, where Shaw finds herself outside once again, with the sun beating down on her. She takes one of the water bottles from the bag and empties the whole thing in a matter of seconds, losing half of it down the front of her tank top in the process.

Shaw wonders about the others. They must have seen the explosion, and maybe they’d gone running in after her. Or maybe Reese had jumped into the driver’s seat and left her for dead.

No, she thinks, crushing the plastic bottle in her fist and dropping it into the sand. That doesn’t seem likely.

She rounds the first corner of the house before she hears the gunshot. Immediately, her feet backpedal and she presses herself flat against the wall, pulling the gun out of her waistband. Someone’s here, maybe the same someone who rigged those explosives.

Shaw remembers the shotgun Reese was holding when she left, and it doesn’t match up to the shot she just heard. Either he’d swapped guns after, or someone else is already firing. Shit.

Nobody’s yelling, and no other shots rings out. Shaw inches closer to the second corner, gun in hand. The building isn’t that big, so she knows that she’s not far from their jeep. From the others.

“If you’re done playing the hero, I’ll be taking your car now.”

Shaw can hear the high, teasing voice so clearly, she thinks it’s being directed at her for a moment and her grip tightens around the pistol.

“That explosion just now. Are you responsible?” Reese asks, his voice low and measured, but Shaw’s been with him long enough to recognise the dangerous tilt to it.

The stranger’s voice sounds almost gleeful in its response. “Amazing what you can pick up with some time and a little ingenuity. Sorry about your friend.”

She’s not sorry.

Shaw risks a glance around the corner, long enough to catch an eyeful of their enemy; brown hair, long legs, the barrel of a gun pointed right at Finch’s terrified face in the back seat. He looks unharmed, so the first shot must have been a warning.

“We could’ve given you a ride,” Reese says. Past tense. Shaw knows he’s pissed now.

“And you will,” the perky asshole with the gun says, and Shaw can tell she’s smiling, “along with your weapons, and... everything else. Please.”

It’s a tough call for Reese. If they give up the jeep, they’re stuck out here, and their chances of making it to the next town are slim, especially with all their supplies gone. Alternatively, if he makes a move for a gun, Finch could end up taking a bullet between the eyes, and for Reese in particular, Shaw knows that would be excruciating.

Would he risk it? Shaw doesn’t know. But it’s probably her fault they were distracted enough to get caught like this in the first place.

Shaw could gun this woman down from right here and solve all their problems.

But when she finally turns the corner, pistol raised to take the shot, Finch looks her straight in the eye and expresses something that she probably wouldn’t even have acknowledged a few months ago. And yet.

The woman notices Finch’s distraction and turns, but Shaw’s already at her back. She wrenches the gun out of her hand and twists her arm back by the wrist. It takes all of three seconds for Shaw to slam this woman’s face against the hood of their jeep, hips pressed against her ass to keep her immobile while Shaw presses her own gun into the back of her head.

The woman yelps in surprise, and Shaw smirks, vindictively twisting her arm just a little harder against her back. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

“Ms. Shaw,” Finch says, sounding both relieved and a little wary of the pressure Shaw’s exerting on the gun. Trust him to worry about the woman trying to rob them blind.

“You sure took your sweet time,” Reese teases, getting out of the car to collect the bag Shaw had dropped to save both their asses.

“Worried about me, Reese?” She knows he was.

Despite the violent grip on her arm and the gun pressed to her head, the woman under Shaw starts to struggle, trying to throw her hips back and buck Shaw off. It’s a really weak effort, and Shaw wonders if it’s a token struggle to begin with. Shaw lets up for a brief second before slamming her captive back down against the hood, leaning over to hiss in her ear, “There’s at least five different ways I can kill you right now. You really want to play this game?”

Ridiculously, the woman turns her face as best she can so it’s angled towards Shaw, and answers, “Well, I always did like to play rough.”

This, along with the wide smile now spreading across the woman’s face, almost convinces Shaw to pull the trigger right then and there. Almost.

“Finch,” Shaw says, redirecting her attention before she does something rash. Which becomes difficult when the woman starts shifting her lower body provocatively. “We got any of that tape left? Or some rope? I get the feeling this one won’t stay down easy.”

Shaw ignores the immediate huff of laughter from beneath her.

“You have no idea.”

Behind her, Reese makes an impressed noise when he sees what’s in the bag. “Guess we got lucky on both counts,” he says, tossing it through the window into the backseat.  Finch looks uncertainly between Shaw and their captive.

“I’m not sure how comfortable I feel, leaving someone tied up out here. Anyone could come along and-”

“-do the exact same thing she just tried to do to us,” Shaw finishes for him. She’s still pretty pissed off about the explosives.

“You really can hold a grudge, huh?”

Shaw twists her arm again, and the woman moans at the pain. She’s still grinning, though.

“We could take her with us,” Reese suggests, and Shaw fixes him with a sour look for siding against her. As he often does when Finch is concerned. Traitor.

“And do what? She’ll probably kill us in our sleep.” The scar on her throat still itches, a constant reminder that they aren’t safe, won’t ever be safe. So why take unnecessary risks?

Finch frowns in thought, like he knows that’s a very real possibility, but he wants to dispute it anyway just to win the argument.

“We take turns keeping watch,” Reese says. “Drop her off at the next town. Keep her tied up the whole time, and if she tries anything again...” He pulls a knife out from their stash and drags the blade across the hood of the jeep, letting it screech meaningfully.

Shaw feels an innate desire to curse at him for ruining the paint-job, but it’s already a scratched up mess to begin with.

At least the threat has its desired effect. Their captive has stopped smiling, and Shaw raises an eyebrow at Reese, slightly impressed. Whether or not he’d actually go through with it is another story.

Sensing a non-violent solution has been reached, Finch seems more eager to participate. He digs through one of their bags and hands Shaw a roll of tape, smiling slightly like he wants to reassure her that this isn’t the stupidest idea ever.

Joke’s on him, because she already knows it is.

Shaw passes the gun to Reese while she binds the woman’s wrists together behind her back. To her credit, there’s no more struggling. When Shaw’s done, she steps back, and the woman turns slowly until she’s half-sitting on the hood. Her cheek is red where it’s been pressed against the metal, but she still looks relatively cheerful.

“Now that we’re all friends, maybe it’s time to introduce ourselves,” she says, with her eyes glued to Shaw in a very telling way.

Shaw ignores her and circles the vehicle to get back in the driver’s seat. She can already tell this is going to be a trial.

“I’m Root,” the woman says, undeterred when nobody else is willing to offer up a name.

Reese opens the passenger-side door and gestures for her to get in. He’s still pointing the gun at her, but when Root fails to cooperate, he sighs and points to them one by one. “Reese. Finch. Shaw. Get in.”

Root beams at him, draping herself over the seat as if it’s been graciously offered. Reese slams the door shut and gets into the back with Finch, Root’s own gun now aimed squarely at the back of her head.

“This is cosy.” Root leans on one shoulder to aim her megawatt smile at Shaw again. “So where are we headed?”

“Where were you trying to go?” Shaw fires back, before Finch can tell her anything about their mission.

Root just looks happy to have her attention, which makes Shaw set her jaw and look away.

“It’s rude to answer a question with another question, Shaw.”

Shaw clenches her fists around the steering wheel.

As if sensing the growing tension, Finch pipes up from behind them. “That’s not really any of your concern. We’ll be parting ways at the next town, and what happens after that is at your discretion.”

“And what if I told you that the next town along this route is prepared to shoot me on sight?” Root asks innocently.

“Not our problem,” Shaw says. “You probably deserve it.”

“Ms. Shaw.” Finch sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “What about the _next_ town?” Reese asks.

“The mayor was quite a character. Handsy. So I made an example.”

Root looks quite proud of herself for that one, especially when Shaw grins a little at the implication. It disappears fast when Root leans in closer to elaborate. Not that Shaw’s opposed to a little blood and gore. She just doesn’t like how close Root’s getting.

“I see,” Finch says, interrupting Root at a particularly gruesome point. Even Reese looks a little uncomfortable. “Is there a town west of here that _would_ welcome you?”

“Maybe,” Root says, eyes rolling upward as if in deep thought. “Or maybe not. But I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun finding out.”

Finch shakes his head and opens their map up in his lap, hiding his face in it as if trying to distance himself from the decision he was more than partially responsible for. Shaw hopes he’s proud of what his morals have brought them.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they go on a long journey, trying and failing to ditch Root at every opportunity. Until she grows on them and they're stuck with her. Then she and Shaw make sweet love in the backseat. The end. :)


End file.
